A Highschool Girl in the Scarlet Pimpernel's World
by AlpineSheep
Summary: Jen is failing history and her teacher offers her extra credit with a book review. Jen picks The Scarlet Pimpernel on a whim and gets more than she bargained for when an accident lands her in revolutionary France! It's the Scarlet Pimpernel to the rescue!
1. Chapter 1: Classes

**A/N: **I don't own the Scarlet Pimpernel, any of Orczy's wonderful characters etc. etc. I thought up this story a while ago and was inspired to write and post it after noticing several other authors on this site had done so with their 'modern person in pimpernel times' stories. This is not my first TSP fanfic, but it _is_ the first one I have ever put online, so enjoy and review if you care to!

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Chapter 1: Classes

"So, can anyone tell me what the basic idea was behind the French Revolution?"

Jen tried to stir through the foggy mists enveloping her brain and find the answer she had skimmed over last night in her homework assignment. No go. It had remained in her mind along with the rest of her homework reading for about the same length of time a bird will remain in an open cage. Apparently, the other students in this small high school classroom were suffering the same dilemma, for not a hand raised in answer to Mr. Gordon's seemingly simple question. Jen let a strand of her dark brown hair fall in front of her face as she sighed. What a dumb class. What had possessed her to take World History? First class of the day too. Nothing but dates, dead people, and events that no longer mattered. Her thoughts were interrupted quite suddenly by an unexpected event.

"Yes, Amber?" Mr. Gordon said, sounding quite relieved. Someone had apparently raised their hand. He pushed his glasses eagerly back up his narrow nose and waited expectantly for his answer.

Jen darted a look from under her hair at the hand-raiser and scowled to herself. Know-it-all, Amber Morris, it figured _she_ would answer. What a geek.

Amber, who really tried hard not to make the rest of the class look bad, but couldn't help doing just that anyway, blushed, and answered, "It was a matter of the French lower classes wishing to overthrow the power that the upper classes held over them."

"Very good," Mr. Gordon smiled approvingly, "France was, as were many countries of the time, divided into very separate social classes. Those unfortunate enough to be in a class. . ." his voice droned on in a monotonous fashion and Jen soon found herself losing her concentration once more. Mr. Gordon was very much of the uptight sort, with teaching that seemed to be as boring to him as it was to his class, not that Jen could really blame him, he had been teaching this same class four times a day for the past ten years after all. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her tight jeans and let her gaze fall on Amber Morris, who sat in the row next to her, two seats ahead, right in the front row. Amber always sat in the front row. When she had been in Jen's English class last year she had sat in the front row too. She always wore her light brown hair braided down her back and she always wore skirts or a dress. It became her well to dress in this manner, adding a gentle femininity to her figure, but it wasn't trendy and it _definitely_ was not cool.

Jen's cell phone suddenly vibrated in her pocket. She flipped it open under her desk and clicked open the text she had been sent. It was from Lauren. Now Lauren was cool. Jen glanced over her shoulder and grinned back at her friend after reading the message: i know 1 class i am unfortun8 enough 2 B in. Jen thought a moment for an answer and began to compose it.

"Now, can anyone tell me what the three major classes were in France in the mid to late eighteenth century?" Mr. Gordon asked, darting an expectant glance at Amber who was sitting very still, secretly praying that some other classmate would answer this time.

Jen wracked her brains again. Uh, well, there were the nobility of course, but it would be of no use to raise her hand if she only knew one class, Mr. Gordon would be sure to press her for the rest and make her look stupid.

Amber reluctantly raised her hand.

"Yes, Amber?" Mr. Gordon called.

"The nobility, the clergy, and the bourgeois," she murmured, cringing within herself. If there was one thing worse than correctly answering a question when no one else knew the answer, it was answering correctly twice in a row under the same circumstances.

What a dork, Jen thought to herself, Amber even used the fancy B word that Jen could never remember.

"Very good, Amber." Mr. Gordon nodded approvingly, "at least _someone_ did their homework."

At least someone _remembers_ their homework, Jen retorted silently.

"Which of these classes was the largest?" Mr. Gordon asked.

Jen raised her hand. Amber's smart streak just had to be stopped.

"Yes, Jennifer?"

"Uh," Jen really hadn't known the answer, and to make matters worse, her brain had suddenly ceased to work the instant she opened her mouth, leaving her staring stupidly at Mr. Gordon's impatient face with the eyes of the entire class upon her. Jen swallowed, and decided odds of one to three weren't so bad, making a wild guess. "The nobility?"

The way Mr. Gordon's narrow face grimaced told Jen even before he spoke just how utterly wrong her answer was. "No," he said crisply and turned to face the rest of the class. "Can anyone _else_ tell me what the correct answer is?" Not a hand lifted from a desk. Mr. Gordon turned to Amber, "perhaps _you_ would care to tell us, Amber?"

If there was anything possibly worse than answering correctly twice in a row, it was answering correctly after a cool girl like Jen had answered wrong. Amber blushed beet red and replied, "the bourgeois."

"That is correct. Now," he continued, a note of sarcasm in his voice, "there would not have been a revolution at all if the bourgeois were outnumbered by the nobility, would there have?" He proceeded to draw a large pie graph on the blackboard, dividing out about ninety-five percent of it and labeling the little slice left: "Nobility".

Jen sighed heavily and paid no attention for the remainder of the class.

As the students filed out of the classroom at the end of the class, Jen was called to an abrupt halt by Mr. Gordon. "Jennifer, come here a moment, I want to have a word with you."

Jen sighed and turned back, looking tiredly out from under her hair to signal her readiness to hear what her teacher had to say.

"Jennifer, I'm concerned about you," Mr. Gordon said. "You aren't a bad student. You passed the entirety of your classes last year with B's, C's and the occasional A. You are currently passing all your classes this year too. All except this one. In World History, you are failing miserably. I was just grading test two yesterday and found you have only been saved from an H by the fact that our grading system stops at F. I would normally blame laziness for such poor results from a student, but considering your record I am inclined to be persuaded otherwise. Is there something that is giving you trouble with this class?"

Jen sighed and decided to be honest. "I totally can't remember any of it after I study it. All these names of people who just don't seem all that important to my everyday life, all these things that happened, like, several hundred years ago, what difference does it make if I know about them or not? How can I be expected to be smart about stuff that is, I mean really, just history? I mean, the reason we don't do things like that any more is because we know better now, right?"

Mr. Gordon was silent for a few moments, then said, "I think I can help you, Jen. You don't want to fail this class, do you?"

Jen shook her head. Duh, who wants to fail a class?

"Well, then, how about I give you an extra credit assignment. I want you to choose a book from this list -,"

"Oh, brother, a book report?" Jen groaned.

"Not exactly," Mr. Gordon said, holding out a sheet of paper, "You may write a paper outlining the historical events and perspectives and their relevance from the book or you may verbalize it to me, whichever you wish. Now here is the list, it will be due four weeks from now, put some good effort into it and it will save your grade. That is all, now hurry so you're not late for your next class."

Jen snatched the paper from her teacher's hand and strode out of the room with a hastily called thanks.


	2. Chapter 2: Headfirst to Headless

Chapter 2: Headfirst to Headless

Lauren, good friend that she was, stayed with Jen after school in the library, searching out the best book for her to read. "This is like, totally no fair," Lauren teased, "I mean, why does he give _you_ the chance for extra credit? Oh, I know!" she laughed, "he feels sorry for your hopeless brain and is trying to save you."

"Ha, ha," Jen said, turning the leaves of _A Tale of Two Cities_. "Gosh, this book looks boring, I don't want to read about cities, I want to read about people."

Lauren popped a stick of gum in her mouth and offered one to Jen. "Hey, what's the next book on your list? I'll go find it for you."

"Um, let's see. _The Scarlet Pimple_?" Jen paused in uncertainty, knowing that the likelihood of Mr. Gordon putting such a title on her list was nonexistent. She read the title again, more carefully this time, "Pimp-er-nel? _The Scarlet Pimpernel_, that's the next one."

Lauren smothered a laugh into a snort. "Oh _my_ gosh. That is too much!"

Jen giggled, "Really, I think maybe it's a typo. Go find it."

Lauren left to do her friend's bidding, snorting as she left. Jen sighed and sank down to the ground, sitting against the bookshelf and pushing through the stack of books she had accumulated, hoping for one to inspire her. _Ivanhoe_, _War and Peace, The Scottish Chiefs, Ben-Hur,_, the covers of these classic pieces of literature held no pictures that inspired her interest, and a brief glance inside told her that she could never hope to understand their content unless she significantly broadened her concentration span.

"Hey," a quiet voice said suddenly from next to her. Jen didn't have to look far up before she saw the skirt and knew who had addressed her. "Are you going to read _A Tale of Two Cities_? That's one of my favorite Dickens novels. That and _The Pickwick Papers_."

"I guess you know all about Dickens, huh Amber?" Jen replied. Of course know-it-all Amber would not only have read, but also enjoyed and actually understood all these boring books.

"Well, sorta," Amber said. "_The Scottish Chiefs_ is a pretty good book too…" They were interrupted by Lauren, returning with her prize.

"Omigosh, Jen," she giggled, "it wasn't a typo!" she held out the small softback book to her friend.

"The Scarlet Pimpernel!" Amber said, her face suddenly animated with excitement, "that is my hands-down favorite book!"

Jen and Lauren burst into louder giggles. "Oooo, should I read the book about the big, red, zits?" Jen said with mock excitement. Lauren began to go into hysterics.

"It's not about pimples," Amber protested.

"Well, look at the guy holding his hand over his face on the cover," Jen reasoned, "he looks like he's trying to hide a severe case of acne!" She quickly dissolved into hysterics with her friend.

"He's got his hand over his face because he's hiding his identity!" Amber retorted indignantly. It was no use; Jen and Lauren were now in the throes of unstoppable laughter.

Indeed, they might never have stopped if school librarian hadn't looked in the aisle to see what the commotion was about and shushed the girls promptly. "Seriously, though," Jen sighed, "what book should I read? That was the last one on the list."

"Take my advice," Amber said, "read The Scarlet Pimpernel." She ignored the smothered giggles that the repeating of the title elicited and continued. "If you're not used to reading classic literature, then Dickens will be too heavy for a start. The Scarlet Pimpernel is a very romantic story that just so happens to have historical settings, I suggest you read it, you won't regret it."

"All those romantic zits," Lauren sighed dreamily. Jen held her nose to keep from laughing out loud.

Amber sighed and left them. There was no reasoning with these two. Apparently the copious amounts of Mountain Dew they had drunk at lunch still hadn't worn off.

After the girls laughter subsided, Jen looked seriously at her stack of books. All of them were at least a daunting inch thick – all of them except _The Scarlet Pimpernel_. It was only half an inch. Her mind was made up. She tucked the little book under her arm and lifted the stack of the others, placing them on the return cart.

"Oh, Jen," Lauren said, not willing to let her friend get away without a tease, "you aren't going to read the zit book are you?"

Jen grit her teeth and stalked determinedly out of the library, her friend trailing behind her.

"So, can we, like, go hang out at Amy's now, Jen?" she asked as they walked down the deserted school hallway.

"You can go," Jen said, "I want to get this out of the way." They turned down the concrete flight of steps that led to the downstairs and main entrance.

"Come on, Jen, you've got, like, four weeks to read it," Lauren persisted, "You could at least – Oh, my, gosh. Look, Jen, it's Zach!"

Jen paused on the landing and turned to look behind her. There at the top of the steps was Zach, sixteen years old and the cutest of all cute dudes in Jen and Lauren's opinion.

"Hi, Zach!" they both called in unison.

Zach grinned, revealing his perfect teeth, "Hey, what are you guys doing here so late?"

"What are you doing here so late?" Lauren asked.

"I just got out of basketball practice," Zach said, "and you?"

"Jen checked out a book," Lauren giggled mysteriously.

"Lauren stop," Jen demanded, realizing what her friend was up to.

Zach leaned forward in great curiosity.

"It's about zits!" Lauren laughed.

"It is not!" Jen protested, "it's a stupid book I have to read for extra credit."

"You read about zits for extra credit?" Zach chuckled, "that's cool. Can I see it?"

Jen shook her head coquettishly and took a step back.

Her foot went down fast as she accidentally stepped off the landing and onto the lower flight of stairs. The surprise, as well as the weight of her backpack completely knocked her off balance and Jen fell backwards, smacking the back of her head sharply on the concrete as she tumbled down the stairs. The last things she saw before she landed were the scared faces of Zach and Lauren.

Jen groaned and turned over on her face. _Wow, that actually didn't hurt as bad as I would have expected_, she thought. Oh, boy, Zach probably thought she was a complete klutz now. Jen stood up and dusted off her jeans. "Oh, cool, I have an authentic knee-hole now," she commented, straightening up. She suddenly stopped cold in shock. Something had happened to the downstairs hall. It looked like the inside of some old historic building. In front of her, where the glass case holding all the trophies the football team had won should have been, there was instead a floor to ceiling painting of a lady in a dress with a mountainous hairdo. _That's funny_, Jen thought to herself, _the drama club really went to town this year with the decorations_. She turned to Lauren only to find that neither she, nor Zach were on the rickety looking wooden stairs that were behind her. Okay, this was _really_ weird. "Lauren? Zach? C'mon you guys, where are you?" She had to get out of here. The school had suddenly gotten very creepy. Jen dashed out the door and was even more astounded. There was no parking lot. Only dirty cobblestone streets lined with old houses met her searching gaze. A cart pulled by a disreputable looking horse rattled past her. The driver, a man dressed in a dirty shirt, tattered breeches and red stocking hat stared at her. Jen returned the favor, catching a whiff of him as he left.

"Dude, take a shower!" she wrinkled her nose.

"A bas le aristo!" he yelled back at her.

"What?" Jen queried to herself. A woman in a ragged dress brushed rudely past her, staring at Jen as she left in the direction the man in the cart had gone. "Okay, you guys," Jen called after them, "you're taking this drama thing _way_ too seriously." The couple paid her no heed but kept on their way. "Hey I'm talking to you!" Jen yelled, trotting after them. "Can you at least tell me what's going on?" As she followed, she began to be joined by other similarly costumed people crowding the street, thronging about her, all pressing in the same direction. Not a few of them cast shocked glances at her attire. Jen was beginning to feel like some sort of outcast. She was the only one who was wearing properly fashionable jeans and shirt, the only one whose hair had highlights, who was wearing makeup and the only one who was wearing tennis shoes – or shoes of any sort for that matter. She was also the only one who looked and smelled like she had taken a shower within the past month. She felt weird.

"This is stupid," Jen muttered, "if only somebody would show me the way out of this lousy mess everything would be. . ." she trailed off as the crowd swept her into what appeared to be some sort of town square and set up in the middle of it was a – "Oh it's a whatchamacallit," Jen said eagerly. "No, I really know this, it's a – what's that word? – a guillotine! This must be some sort of reenactment or something. Man, is this how Mr. Gordon wants me to learn history? This is the most insane reenactment that I have ever. . ." Some soldiers were leading a man up the steps onto the platform of the guillotine. Jen watched as they lay him on the bench under the knife and then dropped the lever on him. She had not expected what happened next in the least. There was no mistaking the fact that the man's head had truly been chopped off – no special effects were that good.

"Omigosh, omigosh, omigosh, omigosh!" Jen shrieked hysterically. "You chopped his head off!" she screamed at the crowd. "You're all murderers!" Her voice was mostly drowned out in the maniacal screaming of the crowd, but those around Jen began to stare at her. Soon quite a few people were beginning to notice the girl who obviously disapproved of the goings on. Jen was suddenly aware that several hundred people were now staring at her none too favorably. "So it was all real. . ." she faltered, "somehow I – I have, landed in revolutionary France. And now you guys all want to chop my head off because I disagreed with you. Omigosh! I hate history!"

"A la lanterne le aristo!" the cry from the mob began to rise.

"Liberte, egalite fraternite."

"Ou la Mort!"

Jen didn't wait another second, but turned and dashed away as fast as her Nikes would take her. "I am innocent!" she called back behind her as she did. Bother, why hadn't she taken French this year instead of Spanish? The mob soon caught up to her and Jen was taken forcibly and swept along in the direction of the guillotine. "This is bad, this is really bad," she whimpered. "Please, I don't want to die!"

Suddenly, just at the moment that she would have been led up the stairs, a group of soldiers came marching into the plaza breaking through the swarm of people, and surrounded her, taking her away from the mob. She was too frightened and overwrought to say or do anything at the moment and allowed the soldiers to lead her into a large, dismal building. They led her down a hall lined with heavy wooden doors with grated windows and pushed her through an open one, locking it behind her.

Jen looked around her and realized she was in a prison cell of the late 1700's persuasion. There were no windows in the stone walls that encompassed the narrow space except for one high up at the end of the cell. Judging by the fact that the window lent a very good view of people's feet walking past on the neighboring street, Jen guessed that her cell was partially subterranean. But all this did not matter in the least to Jen as more pressing issues were upon her mind.

"Oh, gosh, I'm too young to die," she sniffled, sinking down to sit on the cold, damp, stone floor. "I wish I knew how to get back home. I wonder how I even got here? Maybe it was-," Jen stopped short as a small scrap of white paper fluttered through her window onto the floor of her cell, its pure, unstained folds standing in sharp contrast to the grime of the cell floor. "Litterbugs," she muttered. Her gaze rested on a small bucket in the far corner. That must be the – Jen didn't even want to think about it. She buried her head in her arms and battled the fear inside her that she couldn't conquer. What was to happen to her?


	3. Chapter 3: To Catch the Pimpernel

**A/N: **_Thanks for the review! I should be able to update fairly frequently as most of the story is written already and I am posting each chapter after it is edited._

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Chapter 3: To Catch the Pimpernel

Jen had remained thus for several hours before a key turning in her lock caused her to look up. Entering her cell was a thin, spare, man of unimpressive proportions. He was dressed entirely in somber black, from his shoes and stockings to his great-coat and cravat, the darkness of which heightened the fact that his skin was very white. He eyed her curiously with pale, sunken eyes peering shrewdly from his narrow face while he rubbed his bony hands together against the cold draft wafting through the cell. A corner of his mouth twisted up sarcastically and he said something in French to the guard who stood just outside the door. The guard laughed in response.

"Wh-what did you say?" Jen faltered.

The man gave a mirthless chuckle. "I said that you were indeed the most peculiar girl I have ever seen. I see you are not French."

Jen shook her head. "What's going to happen to me?"

"Oh, you will be tried on the morrow and executed," he replied dryly, turning to leave. "We only saved you from the mob so that this could be carried out properly."

"Wait!" Jen wailed, "you can't just kill me! I'm all for revolution! Taxation without presentation is tyranny or something and all that. I mean, all I did was freak out about a guy getting his head chopped off. I'm only fifteen for Pete's sake!"

"Girls younger than you have been killed for less," the man remarked, "I suggest you utilize a different excuse when you stand before the . . ." his voice trailed off as his sharp eyes suddenly fell upon the scrap of paper still laying where it had fallen under the window. The man strode briskly to it and picked it up, unfolding it as he did so.

Jen watched nervously as his eyes scanned the contents of the paper, his jaw clenching and his eyes narrowing. He crumpled the piece of paper and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket.

"Did you happen to read this?" he enquired.

"Oh, so it _was_ a note then?" Jen asked.

"Indeed," the man smiled faintly, apparently satisfied with her response, "allow me to introduce myself, I am Citizen Armand Chauvelin, Chief agent of the Committee of National Security."

"I'm Jen," Jen replied, "Jennifer Ames."

"Well, Miss Ames," Chauvelin said, "I believe I may safely surmise that you would prefer to live?"

"Is that a trick question?" Jen almost laughed but suddenly realized that since her life was in the balance it would be better for her to withhold smart remarks and added quickly, "I mean, of course! Yes!"

"Well, then," the man continued, "I believe you can do us a little favor."

"Sure, whatever you need." Jen said readily, a spark of hope rising up within her.

"Have you ever heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel, Miss Ames?"

"Oh, you mean that book with the goofy title?"

"I mean a man, Miss Ames. The English spy who calls himself the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

Jen shook her head.

"Indeed?" an ironic smile played about Chauvelin's face. He spoke some short command to the guard who came forward and led Jen out of the cell. "Let us go where we can discuss this more comfortably, Miss Ames. I am sure you are in need of some refreshments."

"Definitely," Jen said, "refreshments or whatever. I could really use a Pepsi right now, but I suppose you don't have any of that. And I hope that bathrooms have been invented by now, because I've been trying awful hard for the past hour not to use that bucket…"

Chauvelin pressed his lips together in disgust as he fell in behind Jen and the soldier and followed them down the hall. It seemed he always ended up doing business with either the slightly mad or the vulgar. This girl seemed a mix of both. Her manners were crude and strange to him and her attire was absolutely shocking. What an outlandish thing for a girl to be wearing trousers, and such _strange_ trousers! He had never seen the like before. Her shirt was snug, her shoes were big – in truth the outfit in its entirety appeared to Armand Chauvelin, in his ignorance of modern American fashion, to be little more than very scanty undergarments. What was a Pepsi? Chauvelin could only hope that he wasn't setting the success of his schemes to depend on a madwoman. Room must be made within the plan in the event this girl proved to be unstable. At this point in his game however, she would be worth the risk.

Jen was led into a comfortably furnished upstairs room where another important looking man sat at a long table, eating, what seemed to Jen, a sumptuous looking lunch. He looked up and wiped his mouth on a napkin as Jen and Chauvelin entered the room. Chauvelin strode over to him and spoke some words in French. The man looked at Chauvelin incredulously as he finished and appeared to ask him a question, also in French. Chauvelin murmured a few more sentences and the man leant back in his chair, rubbing his hands as a broad grin spread across his face. He turned and looked at Jen.

"Won't you have a seat, Citizeness Ames," he said with a thick French accent, "and make yourself comfortable. Help yourself to some food."

Jen obeyed and took the seat offered her, near the seated man. Chauvelin took a seat opposite Jen but declined to serve himself any food. Jen picked suspiciously at the foreign victuals – remembering vaguely that the French were not against eating frogs – and helped herself to a large glass of wine. She took a sip of this and was not impressed with its flavor. However, as this might be her only chance to have alcohol while under age, she seized the glass and took another gulp eagerly.

Chauvelin sighed as he saw this and reached across the table, drawing the wineglass out of Jen's reach. He didn't want to have to deal with a drunkard on top of everything else.

"No, no," the important looking man said, passing the wineglass back to Jen, "Let her have all zee wine she desires. We want to make her vary comfortable."

Jen chewed her food nervously, wondering if it was a good thing that she was to be made comfortable.

"Now, let us talk beesness," the man said as Jen continued to eat, "Citizen Chauvelin informs me zat you have never heard of zee Scarlet Pimpernel. Well, let me inform you," he said, leaning forward slightly. "Zee Scarlet Pimpernel is a terrible and fearsome leader of a roguish band of cutthroats, killers if you will, who makes it his game to sally forth and steal select individuals from us, only to murdair zem ruthlessly once zey are in his power. Our government would give anything to see him stopped, as he _must_ be stopped."

"So, he's like a serial killer? What can I do about that?" Jen asked, beginning to despair again.

"He has selected you," the man said, "to take away. Zat note you found in your cell was something of his calling card, he leaves a message to zee individual zey have targeted and zey will stop at nothing to spirit them away."

Jen gulped. Everybody in Revolutionary France was out to kill her it seemed.

"We need you," the man continued, "to be set forth as a sort of bait for him. We promise you will not be harmed. If you fail, zen death awaits you as it did before, but if you succeed, zen you will be welcomed to our people with open arms, declared a heroine, a goddess, a celebrity."

"A celebrity?" Jen perked up.

"Indeed," he smiled, "you will be awarded a fortune and claim untold fame and popularity. You might do almost anything you pleased."

His quiet, smooth voice awoke in Jen the strong desire to accomplish the feat he set before her. Anything was better than dying, and this option was better than just living. She didn't consider the possibility that these men, who had been so indifferent as to her fate before, might, in the event she was of no more use to him, leave her exactly as he had found her, even if she did succeed. "Count me in!" she exclaimed, "so what's the plan?"

"It is good zat you are so anxious to cooperate," he smiled, glancing at Chauvelin as he spoke. "Ze plan is, we will have a mere four guards escort you out of zees prison under pretense zat we are taking you to another prison. Zee seeming insignificance of zees escort will lure our quarry to attempt to take you from us, by some means of trickery or even force. But, trailing some distance behind, we will have soldiers, disguised as a mob of rabble, following us, held back seemingly by another four soldiers. Zees will be ready in any event to charge forward and lay hands on anyone attempting to carry you off, upon which zey will capture the Pimpernel and our plan will have been successful. However," he said, leaning back in his chair, "I do not anticipate zis plan to work. Our enemy is quite elusive and has foiled many such cunning schemes before. It is almost inevitable zat you will be carried away from us under such circumstances. What I believe will cause us to actually be successful in this endeavor is zee fact zat you will be able to draw attention to yourself once you are taken away. Now, zee Pimpernel relies almost completely upon disguise and ze cooperation of his captives. The success of his schemes depends on his ability to pass our guards, undetected, at one of zee Paris gates and so spirit his prisoners off to zee countryside, far out of our reach.

"Now, if, for some reason our plan doesn't work and you are indeed carried off by zee Pimpernel, you must feign compliance. He and his associates will pretend to be very friendly, as though zey were actually saving your life, and you will be concealed in some mode of conveyance, such as a cart. Your life depends on making yourself known to the guards at zee gate, upon which instant, zee Pimpernel will be captured." The man's dark eyes glinted with an eagerness to behold the sight he had described, then he added, "Also, as an extra precaution, we will have one of our men attempt to follow after you through zee city to whom you might signal if anything goes direly amiss."

"What if he doesn't come for me?" Jen asked.

"Oh, he _will_ come for you," Chauvelin assured her from across the table, taking a pinch of something from a small tin and snorting it up his nose, "he always comes for those he has chosen."

"What is that?" Jen wrinkled her nose.

"Oh, this?" Chauvelin held up the tin. "Snuff, of a very fine quality. Care for any?"

"Uh, no thanks," Jen waved her hands, "so back to the Pimpernel, if all this works, I won't be killed?"

"No, your life is guaranteed, Miss Ames, you may trust that I will see to it." Chauvelin replied.

"It's a deal!" Jen attempted a grin. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her, "Wait a minute, Mr. Chauvenlin," she said, "What's going to happen to this Pimpernel after he gets captured? You aren't going to chop his head off too, are you?"

Chauvelin took another pinch of snuff before gazing with piercing, steely, eyes into Jen's own. "You just worry about what will happen to you," he said. "Remember, it is either his life, or yours. If we fail, you will be the one ascending the steps of Madame Guillotine."

The bread Jen had just swallowed stuck fast in her throat as this ultimatum was laid before her. It seemed she had no choice. "Why do you guys do all this?" she asked, "I mean, why kill all these people? Wouldn't life be so much happier if you all stayed home and enjoyed yourselves? Maybe get a real job? Like, one that doesn't involve chopping people's heads off?"

"Liberty, Miss Ames," Chauvelin replied, "Liberty and equality for all men, that is why we do this. The will of the people, so long suppressed, must be given liberty to do as it wills without oppression. Our measures may seem extreme, but they are necessary. If we do not purge the land of corrupters then our cause would be undermined and fail."

"Indeed," the other man, added, taking a sip of wine, "and if one can get a little power for himself while he is at it, so much zee better! Now, if you are finished with your food, I think it is about time you were made ready for your excursion." He grinned mysteriously as Jen was led out of the room and turned to Chauvelin. "Well, Citizen? What do you think of my plan?" he said in French.

Chauvelin took another pinch of snuff and replied. "I disagree with your tactics, Citizen. The girl could be threatened into cooperation without deceiving her about the Pimpernel's true motives. Now, were she to discover her mistake, your entire plan would fail miserably and you will have lost your prisoner."

"But I have also tempted her with riches and fame, what girl can resist that? It is much easier to gain from a girl interested in self-glory rather than one merely preserving her own life." The man countered. "I could not threaten a girl with death if she fails while putting her within the grasp of one who could save her life. There would be nothing to stop her from cooperating entirely with our enemy should she fall into his hands. Misleading her about the Pimpernel's true motives was the only way to avoid this."

"I could have found a way," Chauvelin replied. "There are other things to threaten besides one's own life. However, as you have been put in charge of this, I shall leave you to your own devices and make my way as planned to England. If you fail, I shall find out the Scarlet Pimpernel soon enough, and I won't have to resort to deception." Chauvelin picked up his black felt hat from the table where he had set it down and placed it atop his head as he rose from his chair. "Good day to you, Citizen, and good luck." He said the last words with a sarcastic smile, quite as though he expected nothing of the kind to come to his colleague.

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**A/N: **_The reason I have not given a name to this random French official is because I wasn't creative/adventurous enough to do so. I feel a little awkward about messing up history with a fake important person. I hope this discrepancy did not cause any confusion to the readers of this chapter and if so, don't worry, this is the only chapter he appears in._


	4. Chapter 4: Late 18th Century Chase Scene

**A/N:** _As I shall in all probability not have the time to get to my computer over the holidays, I have managed to turn out two chapters this time. Enjoy!_

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Chapter 4: Late 18th Century Chase Scene

No time was wasted before the plan was put into full implementation and it was in little over an hour's time before all was prepared. A group of soldiers was assembled and the majority of them attired themselves in common clothing, ready to embark on their mission. The four escort soldiers surrounded Jen, and led her forth from the building, back out to the streets of Paris.

"So," Jen said, attempting conversation with her escort, "what does the Pimpernel look like? I mean, how will we know when he attacks us?"

The two soldiers ahead of her made no reply, so Jen turned to look at the two behind her and found, to her disconcertment, that both of them had been staring fixedly at her as though they had never seen anyone who looked like her before in their life.

"Oka-ay…" Jen looked past the soldiers and saw that the fake mob was assembling, making as though they were starting to gain interest in her as she was led down the street. Four uniformed soldiers made their pretense of holding them back. As Jen let her gaze wander about elsewhere, she noticed that the ordinary Parisian citizens were beginning to take notice of her as well. A man carrying a pitchfork stared at her as he passed by on the street. He muttered under his breath and spat at her, probably assuming that, as she was under guard, she must be an enemy of the glorious republic.

"Gross," Jen muttered.

The soldiers turned a corner down a new street, Jen following between them. She looked about for any sign of a cunning serial killer charging forth to whisk her away, but saw nothing beyond the general milling of late afternoon passerby. Reputable and disreputable citizens either going to market, going home to their families, or going out to get drunk – some probably intoxicated already – nothing suspicious. It seemed that the entire trip between the two prisons would be spent in this manner and all their well-laid plans would be for naught. The soldiers accompanying her began to realize the direction the situation was going and decided to liven things up a little. Some of the undercover soldiers in the mob began to hoot and shake their fists. Passerby began to take even more notice of Jen now. Some even added their own shouts to the mob's ruckus. The soldiers turned Jen down another corner. The street they entered was all but filled with a crowd of out-at-the-elbows or, – as Mr. Gordon or Amber Morris might have properly referred to them – _sans cullotte_. They were gathered about a man in their midst who appeared to be in the middle of some arousing speech, for after every sentence he spoke, the crowd shouted in agreement. He was not impressive looking, his black coat was moth-eaten and his tri-corner hat was wilted, pulled loosely over his wiry brown hair which came out wildly from the string it had been tied back with. As Jen was led past, he turned and suddenly pointed at her, raising his voice as he continued to speak. It was all in French, so Jen couldn't understand it, but the crowd understood, and as they turned to look at her she could see hate glowering in their eyes. She shrank within herself as she faced their stares and tried to fight the fear rising in her as she looked into the eyes of the speaker. He shook his fist at her, arousing the crowd to do the same. The soldiers leading Jen began to walk faster now, if they dallied any longer, they might have a _real_ mob to face. It was too late. As the crowd saw the soldiers attempting to make a getaway they charged forward and fell upon them in their eagerness to break through to seize Jen. The pseudo mob fell upon the insurgents in an attempt to stop them, causing utter chaos and mayhem in the narrow street.

Chairs from the nearby Café were thrown. Glass bottles were cracked over people's heads. One fellow was tossed bodily into a window. The soldiers around Jen were punched and battered, so that they were hard-pressed to keep Jen between them. As the mob surged tighter about, Jen was squeezed from between her protectors and into the mob. One mobster pulled the scrunchie off her ponytail, another seized her by the shirt collar. Suddenly, both of these men were laid out flat under the trampling feet of the mob as the man in the moth-eaten coat knocked each down with a blow. He took Jen by the arm and with surprising skill and strength, pulled her straight out of the mob and into the café.

"What the heck are you doing?" Jen hollered as the man sped her past tables and surprised diners.

"I'm getting you out of Paris," the man replied in perfect English.

Jen realized she hadn't expected an answer and so was speechless for a few moments as the man spun her around a narrow corner in the back of the building and half-carried, half-urged her up a cramped stairway. "Oh my gosh," she exclaimed, feeling a sudden wash of new terror, "you're the Pimpernel dude!"

"At your service, milady!" he replied cheerfully. "Turn right at the top."

Jen followed the directions as the stairway ended in a low-roofed attic space. She remembered the instructions regarding her behavior if she should be captured – of how she should feign compliance – and so made no resistance as the man led her to a window at the end of the attic. Shouts from the mob below grew in volume, and the tramp of footsteps could be heard close behind, leaving it safe to assume that their pursuers were hard on their heels. The Pimpernel thrust open the rickety attic window and within moments had climbed through it. He turned directly and helped Jen to slide through as well. They were now standing on a narrow roof ledge and below Jen could see the soldiers and the portion of the mob unable to fit into the cafe. Suddenly, several of them looked up and began pointing and shouting at them.

"Uh, Mr. Pimpernel," Jen started, "I think we've been trap-," she looked beside her and found to her surprise that her captor was no longer there.

"Give me your hand!" A voice called from above her head. Jen looked up and saw that while she had been watching the crowd, the Pimpernel had hoisted himself up on the attic roof and was now leaning over to pull her up behind him. Jen falteringly raised her hand to be taken and was suddenly lifted like a feather, with one quick pull she was standing beside him on the roof. Jen took a step and nearly slipped on the tractionless tin.

"Yipes!" she squealed, trying to regain her balance. The man didn't give her any time to do this however, but tucked her under his arm with a determined gentleness and dashed along the ridge of the roof. A half-eaten apple and a few rotten tomatoes sailed through the air in their general direction from the mob below but – much to Jen's relief – failed to reach their target. The Pimpernel was quicker than a cat whisking along the top of the roof. Jen clung to his moth-eaten coat for balance as he slid down one side of the roof to a place where a neighboring roof met this one. He leapt deftly across the few feet of space above the alley below and ran along the next rooftop.

Jen felt like she was flying. Shingles and tiles whizzed under her in a blur, her hair whipped across her face in the wind, the strength of her captor supported her easily as he bounded in great strides up and down the next rooftop. This rooftop ended at the wall of a much taller neighboring house that it was joined to. Jen was set back on her feet as the Pimpernel stopped. She felt a little dizzy from her adventure and turned to lean her back on the wall of the house. As she looked back across the roofs they had traversed, Jen could see that two of the soldiers were now attempting to pursue them, scrambling across the rooftops toward them in great haste. Before Jen could decide whether or not to pretend she didn't see them, the Pimpernel was beginning his next escape maneuver.

"Get a good grip m'dear," he said, "we're going up."

"Wha-?" Jen had not even considered that option as a possibility, but as he took her over his shoulder and found footholds in the craggy rocks of the chimney jutting out next to them, and handholds on the drainpipe just within reach, Jen realized that there was virtually no situation that this man couldn't find his way out of. She wasn't sure if she should be scared or feel wonderfully safe as he nimbly scaled the wall of the house and placed her safely once more on her feet. If he was her enemy, then how was he ever to be stopped? But then what enemy would treat her with such consideration as this man was? Jen felt a little confused as she thought of this and tried to remind herself that it was her duty to turn him in.

The Pimpernel pulled his wilted hat more securely down onto his head and straightened up to his full height. Jen was startled to realize that her captor had been hunched over this entire time, disguising the now obvious fact that he was taller than her dad who was an impressive 6' 1".

"Well, we shall see if that stops those fellows for the time being," he said casting a look back down at the roof below them, ignoring the fact that Jen was staring at him with her mouth open. "Come, it is still a little ways to our destination." He held his hand out graciously – what else could Jen do but take it? Soon she was bounding alongside him, her treaded Nikes springing along next to his worn buckled shoes. Her painted fingernails peeped out of his strong, guiding hand as they leapt up and down different levels of roofing and spun in and out of clusters of chimneypots. Jen was swung gently through a window into a room as the Pimpernel followed close behind.

"Wait in this room," he said, "I will be back momentarily."

"What for?" Jen asked.

"We will be beginning the next part of our journey," he said, "I must prepare to get you through the gates of Paris."

The words hit Jen's exhilarated mind like a bucket of cold water and brought her back to the mission she had nearly forgotten all about. Yeah, the Paris gates, she needed to make sure that he was stopped at those. "Um, so are we just going to, like, walk right through?" she asked.

"Look out that window," he nodded in the direction of a window at the opposite end of the room. Jen complied and her eyes fell upon a rickety little cart, filled with some vegetable sacks, hitched to a dirty pony down in the street below. She hadn't wasted much attention on this before her eyes wandered to a covered coach standing just across the street from it. It looked like something she had seen in _Pride and Prejudice_ and was hitched to a handsome team of horses. What a getaway vehicle!

"So we're taking that thing down there?" Jen asked.

The Pimpernel nodded as he left the room, shutting the door behind him. Jen wandered to the window again and looked out. Mr. Chaunvella was right, she decided, this guy could really convince you that he was the hero. Suddenly, down in the street below, Jen espied one of her former escort soldiers walking past, looking about, apparently, for his lost quarry. Jen opened her window and called down as loudly as she dared, "Hey! Soldier!" The soldier looked up and appeared quite relieved to see Jen's face looking down at him. "We are going to be going out the gates soon," Jen said, annunciating hard in hopes the soldier would understand her, "we are taking that coach." She pointed to the covered coach.

The soldier pointed to it. "Celui-ci?"

Jen nodded vigorously and then pulled her head back inside abruptly as the door into her little room opened once more. In stepped a weatherbeaten old farmer in well darned clothes with a broad-brimmed hat pulled down to hide his eyes. Little pieces of caked mud fell off his shoes as he stepped forward and motioned for Jen to come to him. Jen took a step back. Who was this?

"Come along, quickly!" he said suddenly. Jen was startled to recognize the voice as being that of the Pimpernel and so stood dumbfounded. He held a large burlap sack forward. "Here, get into this."

"I don't think so," Jen said, taking another step back. Getting stuck in a burlap sack was definitely not on her agenda, anything might happen once she got trapped inside.

"It is imperative for your safety that you do this," he remonstrated.

Jen froze. Was that a threat? Not wanting to find out, she quickly complied and allowed herself to be put into the sack. It was itchy and dusty inside, but she could breath well and Jen had never been one to be afraid of small, dark places, so she didn't feel altogether uncomfortable. She was hoisted up and swung gently with the stride of her captor as he made his way out of the building.


	5. Chapter 5: The Good Guy

Chapter 5: The Good Guy

Jen soon found herself plopped onto something very hard that, judging by the creaking and jostling that followed this procedure, she decided must be the bottom of the coach. She scrunched herself around to find a comfortable position and listened for the sounds of the coach being stopped that would signal her release. The coach rattled and jostled along the streets, constantly bumping Jen against the floorboards as it did so. As time passed, Jen began to wonder when they would be stopped.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, the coach came to a halt. Jen wriggled fiercely. "Hey! I'm in this sack! Let me out!"

"Coming, m'dear girl," the unmistakable voice of the Pimpernel called out.

Jen froze. That wasn't who was supposed to have answered her. Where were the guards? The top of the sack was soon cut open and Jen wriggled her way out and looked around her. In all appearances, she was sitting in the middle of the rickety cart she had seen earlier instead of the coach she had thought she would be in, and they were no longer in Paris, but rather in a dense woods without another human being in sight – except her enemy, the Scarlet Pimpernel, who stood before her with a terrible looking knife in his hand. The knife had been used to free Jen from her sack but the sight of it sent a fresh sense of fear through her body.

"Oh *%#!" Jen exclaimed. "How in the heck did we get out of Paris?" She couldn't see the eyes of her captor after saying this, but the way the man straightened up ever so slightly with his head at an imperceptible tilt to one side let on to the fact that he hadn't expected this sort of reaction.

"Well, m'dear," he replied at length, "the guards at the gate were so preoccupied with the arrival of a caleche just behind us that they let us pass without stopping."

"What's a caleche?"

"A large coach," he said. "The guards must have been given orders to arrest the driver or some such thing."

The realization of what had just happened came upon Jen like a death sentence. She had ordered the guards to search the coach when she should have done so instead with the cart. Now the Scarlet Pimpernel had escaped and had her solely within his clutches to murder as he pleased. She couldn't so much as expect aid from Chauvelin or his friend, whom she had failed. The words he had warned her with came with a terrible air of foreboding to her mind: _"The Scarlet Pimpernel is a terrible and fearsome leader of a roguish band of cutthroats… murderers…"_ There was now only one option left.

Jen sprang out of the cart and started running the instant her feet hit the ground, bolting off into the woods at the top of her speed. She could hear the sound of pursuing footsteps behind her and she glanced briefly over her shoulder to see how closely she was being chased. Much to her dismay, Jen found that the Pimpernel, still clothed in his farmer's garb, was jogging easily not three feet behind her.

"Where are you going?" he called. Jen didn't reply and struggled to run faster, despite the disconcerting fact that her pursuer was fully capable of overtaking her anytime he pleased. Her foot caught on a root and she nearly fell, but, managing to recover her balance, Jen kept running. As she careened around a large tree, she accidentally ran into a bramble patch. The thorns caught her jeans and snagged mercilessly on her shirt. She fell to the ground as she struggled to free herself, bursting into tears. It was no use, she was trapped. This was how it always happened in the movies, she thought to herself. Now she would either get stabbed with the knife she had seen, or shot, maybe strangled or something equally terrible. She looked up at the Pimpernel, now standing beside her and cried, "Please, oh please don't kill me!" If Jen had been in a more stable form of mind at the moment, she might have noted the pure astonishment on the man's face as she said these words. Never before in his career had the Scarlet Pimpernel ever rescued someone in such a deluded state of mind, and never before had any one of them begged him to spare their life. Didn't she know who he was?

"My dear girl, calm yourself," he said gently, reaching out to withdraw Jen from the brambles. He paused as Jen only shrank further away from him. "I'm not going to kill you," he assured, "indeed, I know not how such an absurd notion even entered your mind. Did you not read the note dropped into your cell? I came to rescue you from the guillotine. How is it that you came to believe my intentions to be those of a murderer?"

"Mr. Chauve – Chauvella – oh, whatever his name is! That guy back in Paris, he said you took people away to kill them," Jen sniffled, her tears abating as the possibility of continued life opened before her.

The Pimpernel stood silently for a moment, as the words processed themselves through his mind. Then suddenly, he threw back his head and laughed heartily, the merry peals echoing through the lonely woods. "Is _that_ what the old fellow told you?"

Jen nodded, beginning to feel quite relieved. If the idea of her death was as humorous as this man thought, then perhaps she wasn't in as much trouble as she had originally surmised.

"No wonder you were so demmed frightened of me!" the Pimpernel continued to laugh. "Forgive me, m'dear," he said at length, "but i'faith, that is the most absurd thing I have ever heard the old fellow do. Now," He took the weatherworn hat off his head and looked Jen in the eyes with a gentle authority. "I pledge you solemnly that I have only your safety in mind and that I and my friends will see you to England where you may find solace from the turmoil and danger of this country. Now come, let me help you."

Jen hadn't grasped all of the vocabulary of that statement, but understood enough to know that she had finally found a friend. She allowed the Pimpernel to disentangle her from the thorns and help her to her feet. He then guided her back to the cart.

"Boy, do I feel stupid," Jen said, "you were the good guy all along."

"We all make our mistakes," he replied. "And, I must admit, I'm not the most reputable looking 'good guy', as you put it."


	6. Chapter 6: Adressing and a Dress

**A/N: **_Sorry to all who have been reading and/or waiting on this story. I've been busy - and it wasn't with writing. I have finally had the chance to come back to my story here and work on updates. I'm still not quite satisfied either with this chapter or the next one, but I can't think of anything else to do to them at the moment, so maybe I'm just being picky - I'll let my readers be the judge of that!_

Chapter 6: Addressing and a Dress

Upon reaching the cart, the Scarlet Pimpernel removed a bundle from the back and handed it to Jen.

"Here, put this on over top of your – ahem – clothes."

Jen unrolled the bundle and found it was a rather dirty dress. "Eww," she wrinkled her nose. "Let's get this straight," she said, "I won't be caught _dead_ in a dress. And a dirty dress? You can just forget it."

"That would explain your current attire then," the Pimpernel commented, "but I must insist that you make an exception this one time. If you don't disguise your clothing then you will put yourself in danger of being recaptured."

"I would rather risk that than wear that dorky thing," Jen muttered.

"You will think differently, ascending the steps of the guillotine," the Pimpernel countered firmly. "I will be unable to guarantee your safety if you disregard my instructions."

Jen grumbled under her breath and slipped the dress on over her shirt and pants. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered and pulled a dirty frilled cap on over her hair to complete her disguise. As she climbed back into the back of the cart and the Pimpernel took his seat on the driver's box, Jen plotted the methods she would use for tearing the hated garment off herself and how she would end its existence on earth in its current shape and form. The Pimpernel did not appear completely satisfied with Jen's transformation and looked as though he were about to suggest she discard her tennis shoes or some other such alteration, but decided he would have to be satisfied and flicked the reins at the cart-horse which now moved forward at a plodding trot. As the cart wended its way through the woods, Sir Percy Blakeney – as the Scarlet Pimpernel was known more formally to society – considered the oddity of his young charge and found himself compelled by an insatiable curiosity to learn something more of her. He was not often wont to engage in lengthy conversation with any of his rescuees but decided this instance would be a worthy exception.

"I beg pardon if the question seems abrupt," he began, "but I should very much like to know who your tailor is."

"Um," Jen pondered the best way to put it, "I don't exactly have a tailor… I get my clothes from a large company of different tailors. I know you probably don't think so, but this outfit is in fashion back where I come from."

"In fashion, well…" Blakeney paused. "One must keep up with fashion, I suppose."

"So, do you rescue people a lot from the guillotine?" Jen asked, pulling an apple out from one of the sacks beside her and taking a bite of it.

"You could say I have become rather busy with that occupation of late."

"It's a pretty dangerous thing to do. I mean, if they catch you, they'll kill you. I sure am glad to be safe now, thanks to you, but I'm not sure I would be willing to go back and risk my life."

"I have followers without which, I would be unable to accomplish the rescues that I have." Blakeney said. "We consider it great sport. Just imagine! Thwarting the schemes of evil men and doing so right under their very noses!" He laughed and glanced at Jen, realizing that she was not immediately disposed to understand his motives.

"So you're like some kind of hero then," Jen said, "almost like one from a movie. Although not really one of the normal kind. I mean, the basic idea is that a hero has got to be handsome at least, maybe a little rich…" Jen glanced at the dirty brown ponytail poking out from underneath the Pimpernel's farmer's hat before she resumed. "I suppose that's not a realistic way to go through life though. But sometimes – oh sometimes! Sometimes someone is totally perfect! Take for instance, this really cute guy at my school, Zach, like, omigosh, he is awesome."

The Pimpernel had remained silent during this rambling of Jen's but now added his own interjection. "A cute guy? May I assume that where you come from this figure of speech denotes an endearing fellow?"

"Well, sorta, it means he's hot." The pause received at this statement prompted Jen to stretch her defining skills and continue. "Basically, he's good-looking. And I kinda like him," she added softly.

"What has he done to attract this admiration of yours?" The Pimpernel had obviously heard Jen's quietly spoken words.

"Oh, nothing really," Jen said dreamily, contemplating Zach as he stood before her last. "He's just really nice, he plays basketball, and he's in my math class. He's cool, you know? And whenever he talks, especially to me, I get all giddy and totally forget about everything else."

"As a friend, I would warn you to be careful," the Pimpernel said, with something of a tone of sadness. "Be careful in whom you place your affections. You may observe a person to possess wit, charm, rare good looks and who seems to be a fascinating and amiable character."

"Kind of like Zach, you mean?"

"Yes," Blakeney continued, "but a person might reveal themselves to be something other than what you had originally thought. Suddenly they are capable of things you thought were so far beneath them and indeed, any decent human. The admiration, love, and worship you felt for them will be thrown ruthlessly to the ground and you will be left to heal a wound so deep, you can do naught but cover it up and attempt to cast it from your memory. It is best then, to be very sure of a person _before_ giving them your affections."

Jen had never considered a relationship in such a serious light before, indeed, she had never really had a serious relationship before, but this man had said those words almost as if he had experienced them. "Do you have a girlfriend?" Jen asked. "Or – how would you put it – a betrothed? Are you married?"

She received no answer. Perhaps this would be too much information about himself to reveal. Jen leaned back in the cart and the drive continued in silence. They eventually stopped in a small clearing where a man on horseback came to them. He was dressed in a plain brown coat and breeches, with a simple cravat tied at his neck. He smiled at Jen, his blue eyes sparkling with adventure.

"Good day, my lady," he said, "I am Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, your escort." He dismounted his bay mare and helped Jen out of the cart.

"Oh, goody, do I get to ride a horse?" she exclaimed, not taking the cue to introduce herself.

"Yes, you shall sit in front of me, Miss - ?"

"Okay, great," Jen smiled, overlooking yet another attempt to get her to give an introduction.

Sir Andrew helped Jen into the saddle and seated himself behind her, then nudged the horse forward. Jen looked behind her at the Pimpernel, still seated in the cart. As they rode away he took off his hat and then pulled off his brown hair, which turned out to be a wig, revealing his own wavy blonde locks. He then ran a rag over his face, removing the false moles he had been wearing and some of the dirt besides. The horse had taken Jen a little too far for her to make out his features and combine them with this look but she could see enough to realize that the Pimpernel wasn't as bad-looking as she had originally attributed him to be.

"So much for the zits," Jen said, turning back around.

"I beg your pardon, Miss - ?" Sir Andrew enquired.

"Oh, that's okay, Sir Andrew," Jen replied. "So, you're taking me to England?"

"Yes, I am, Miss - ?"

"What will I do when I get there?" Jen asked. "I mean, will I live in a hotel or something?"

"Well, that all depends on what you prefer, Miss - ?"

"Give me a break!" Jen cried exasperatedly, "Stop calling me Miss! My name is Jen! Jennifer Ames if you prefer."

Sir Andrew sighed in relief. It had taken a lot of prompting, but he had finally obtained an introduction. "With pleasure, Miss Ames," he replied, urging the horse into a trot.

"Whoa!" Jen cried out, clutching the pommel of the saddle, "This is way too bouncy! Slow down!"

"You may find it better if we increase our speed," Sir Andrew grinned and sent the horse into a sweeping canter.

Jen hung with white knuckles onto the pommel and was just about to holler her protests at Sir Andrew when she realized that this was indeed much better. The cantering horse swept them both along in graceful, unbroken strides, making Jen feel as though flying couldn't feel more liberating. She laughed and found the rest of the ride to be quite enjoyable.

Another day's travel brought them to the coast, and a few days more saw Jen in England. She was taken in by two English ladies. Sisters who were, in reality, undeniably old maids and had nothing better to do than to amuse themselves with doing popular little things such as aiding refugee's from France. Particularly those rescued by the Scarlet Pimpernel, who always had such stories to tell and were sure to invoke a stream of invitations to balls and dinner parties by other interested members of society. They were moved by her plight – and the state of her attire – and were determined to give her every chance in her new country. The first step they took in this direction, was to take Jen almost immediately to a dressmakers to fit her for 'fashionable' clothes.

"I have so died and gone to hell," Jen whimpered as she was led into the shop and stared at the dresses on display. "Couldn't I just keep wearing my own clothes?"

"Jennifer," Ms. Nelson, the eldest of the two sisters said, "I know not where you acquired this absurd preference to scandalous and manly clothing-,"

"Try Annapolis, Maryland for a start," Jen muttered.

"But I see I must set this matter right with you," Ms. Nelson continued, not hearing Jen's comment. "A dress worn nobly is a woman's glory. It graces her figure with a femininity found with no other garment. It has the power to add beauty to the plain and demureness to the gaudy. It can give an interested suitor a glimpse of what he may have, without displaying it all at once for everyone to see. The rustle of skirts has heralded the arrival of many a noble queen and gentle maiden. A dress worn with good taste has no rival. Whereas your present attire leaves much to be desired."

"Now, come, Jennifer," the younger sister said to Jen, "let us find you some lovely gown for the ball to be held the day after next."

The mention of a ball sparked a little interest within Jen – she had purposefully allowed everyone to believe she was seventeen since she looked that age and wanted to participate in everything good. She followed her guardians into a back room where an old lady was measuring out cloth. Her mouth was full of pins which turned up comically when she smiled at her customers, nearly causing Jen to lose her composure and giggle. She pulled them out of her mouth and deftly stuck them into a pincushion before curtseying and asking what she could do for the ladies.

"Miss Ames needs an evening gown, and a few dresses for daytime wear," Ms. Nelson stated. "One daytime dress and the gown will be needed urgently, the rest you may take a week at making if you wish. Show me some garments that may be taken in for her use."

The seamstress disappeared into a closet and brought out several dresses on her arm. Jen was handed one to put on and ushered into the privacy of a dressing room with the seamstress to aid her to fasten the garment. Jen felt weird as her skirts rustled around her and she made her way out of the dressing room to a mirror. She was fully prepared to see some sort of Bo-peep or Disney princess in the reflection, but then, as Jen caught sight of herself, she stood still in amazement. The dress was of cream taffeta and gave a wide neck onto Jen's shoulders, molding to her form down to her waist where it then descended into full gathers to the floor. There were no sleeves in the traditional sense of the article, but rather, gathered lace around each armhole took the place of these and hung delicately to Jen's elbows. A small cluster of crimson rosettes were sewn to the upper left shoulder and a broad satin sash of that color tied about Jen's waist, forming a bow in the back. The colors brought out the richness of Jen's dark brown hair and the style added a delicate beauty to Jen's form. In short, Jen took one look at herself and wished that she might never have to take the dress off. So _here_ was the glory with no rival that Ms. Nelson had mentioned! She batted her eyelashes at her reflection and bobbed a curtsey.

"I like this one," she stated.

"It _is_ beautiful," Ms. Nelson said, "but my dear, there are many others to try on that may be even more so."

More beautiful dresses? Jen suppressed a squeal of delight, now firmly believing she had died and gone to heaven. Jen and the Miss Nelsons spent the rest of the afternoon in the dressmakers shop and left with several orders for new dresses, as well as the first dress Jen had tried on wrapped in brown paper. Also, now willing to attempt to fit into this new society that she had found herself in, Jen had donned a simple dress of pale green lawn trimmed with white lace. Once she returned to the house she discarded her pants onto the rubbish heap. She felt a little guilty as she did so. Wasn't she doing what all the feminine activists had worked to save her from? Jen decided she didn't care and tossed her tennis shoes on the pile as well.


	7. Chpt 7: Those Ladies Seek Him Everywhere

Chapter 7: Those Ladies Seek Him Everywhere

The night of the ball came much quicker than Jen had anticipated it to. She had spent the few days between learning etiquette and dancing as best she could and hoped that she would be able to play the part of a London society girl believably, but was certain that she would do something awkward, much akin to Eliza Dolittle's performance in the Ascott races.

The ball in question was hosted by someone that Jen had never heard of, namely, a Lord Grenville who was supposedly some important chief of state or something like that – Jen had never been one to bother with learning such facts. She managed to curtsey gracefully when introduced to the host and hostess and made her way with great composure to the room reserved for dancing after depositing her cloak with a servant. The dainty strains of the minuet filtered through the candlelit air as Jen attempted to join a small group of young ladies, standing about waiting for someone to ask them to dance. She bit back the 'hi guys' that came immediately to her lips and instead, tilted her nose up slightly and said in the best English accent that she could muster, "Good evening, my ladies."

The ladies in question looked at her somewhat askance, as though they sensed an imposter, but they were polite enough to overlook that possibility and stood aside to let Jen enter their little circle. So far, so good, Jen thought to herself and waited to see what topic of conversation they would choose, hoping that it would be one that she could discourse upon with at least some intelligence.

"I just wish I knew what he looked like," giggled one girl in a pale blue dress.

"Who? A secret boyfr – I mean – admirer?" Jen queried.

"The Scarlet Pimpernel!" the girl replied with the same fangirl giddiness that Jen's younger sister would have responded to with mention of the Jonas Brothers.

"You mean you don't know what he looks like?" Jen asked.

"Of course not," the girl replied, somewhat miffed with Jen's tone of voice, "nobody knows what he looks like. His identity is a secret. He could be in this very room right now, he could even be somebody we know, and we wouldn't even realize it."

Jen scanned the room of dancing men and women. "Yeah," she agreed, "I only saw him while he was in disguise, so I wouldn't know what he really looks like either." This casually dropped comment quickly made Jen the center of attention as the girls pressed for the account of her rescue by the Pimpernel which Jen willingly gave. Jen was just beginning to thoroughly enjoy herself when suddenly, something happened to cast a shadow of fear on her countenance.

"Armand Chauvelin!" the majordomo announced suddenly. "Agent of the Republic of France."

Jen furtively looked in the direction of the entrance and found herself staring into the not-so-faraway eyes of the man she knew now to be her enemy, still dressed in his immaculate black attire.

"Oh my gosh," she said, turning her back quickly to him.

The young ladies giggled. "What was that funny thing you just said?"

"Oh my gosh?" Jen replied. The girls giggled again.

"That is simply the funniest phrase ever!" one of the girls said. "What does it mean?"

"It means, um, that I'm shocked, I guess."

"We must all learn it!" exclaimed one of the girls.

"Yes let's!" the rest of them cried. Soon little outbursts of the phrase were being incorporated into the girl's chatter, accompanied by more giggling which Jen now joined in as well, for it was quite amusing to her to see all these proper English girls bandying about such a modern term. In fact, she all but forgot Chauvelin's unpleasant presence at the party.

"His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales and suite, Sir Percy Blakeney, Lady Blakeney." The majordomo announced.

"Oh, Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney are here!" one of the girls whispered excitedly.

"Elsie, don't you mean, 'oh my gosh, Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney are here!'?" another girl teased.

Jen interrupted the consequent laughter with what she was afraid was going to be a dumb question. "Who are Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney?"

She was quickly informed of their status as the richest couple in England and of Lady Marguerite Blakeney's wittiness and charm. Jen watched as they entered the room and also noted that Chauvelin had quickly moved to their side, seeming to seek an audience with Lady Blakeney. She felt herself bristle with indignation. What was that man up to now? Without realizing she was doing so, Jen began to move closer to these people, curious of what might occur. Soon she was close enough to listen to the conversation.

"We but mention the name of the Scarlet Pimpernel," the Prince of Wales was in the middle of saying, "and every fair cheek is suffused with a blush of enthusiasm. None have seen him save his faithful lieutenants…"

Jen gazed at Lady Blakeney, and noticed that the beautiful woman was under the close scrutiny of the little man in black. She wondered what he wanted with her, and why the Prince was talking about the Scarlet Pimpernel right in front of this man. Didn't he know that Chauvelin was an enemy of the Scarlet Pimpernel?

"And we poor husbands," Lady Blakeney's husband suddenly spoke, "we have to stand by…while they worship a demmed shadow."

A good deal of laughter followed this remark but Jen didn't laugh. Something had caught her attention about Sir Percy. He seemed familiar somehow. He was richly dressed in the fashion of the day, and it was obvious, even to Jen who was no expert, that it was nothing less than the _latest_ fashion of the day. But this fact leant no clue to guide Jen in determining how she knew him.

The little group was dispersing now. Chauvelin dissolved back into the crowd. Lady Blakeney was swarmed with her admirers and carried away, and Sir Percy watched his wife go, gazing at her from under half-closed eyelids. Such a look of hurt and love Jen had never seen before. It rather reminded her of what the Scarlet Pimpernel had told her in the pony cart regarding using caution when giving your love to someone. He had said: _The admiration, love and worship you felt for them will be thrown ruthlessly to the ground and you will be left to heal a wound so deep, you can do naught but cover it up and attempt cast it from your memory. _That was what Sir Percy looked like he was struggling with right now.

Jen suddenly felt like she was struck with a lightning bolt of realization. Could it be? Maybe that was why he looked familiar? Sir Percy was the Scarlet Pimpernel!

"Oh, my, gosh," she said out loud without realizing she had spoken.

Sir Percy turned and surveyed her with his eyeglass. Jen could tell that he knew she had recognized him, and he gave her an almost imperceptible nod, an unspoken request for her to remain silent on the subject. An inane smile spread itself across his face and he said, "Sink me! If that isn't a quaint little saying! And I really must ask you who your tailor is! My wife should like to know I'm sure. A gown of such beauty I see only perhaps once a week."

Jen grinned and took a curtsey. "Perhaps when my guardians have introduced me to her, I may convey the necessary information." She began to sidle off, so as not to draw unnecessary attention to herself. The Prince, who had been standing near Blakeney, turned to him and began to engage him in conversation. Jen heard some of it as she returned to the girls she had acquainted herself with.

" … a little poem I created, all done in the tying of a cravat."

"This should be interesting, Blakeney," the Prince said, "do tell!"

Sir Percy started with a little flourish, and in a slow, affected accent, began.

"We seek him here, we seek him there,

Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.

Is he in heaven? – Is he in hell?

That demmed, elusive Pimpernel?"

The poem quickly became the talk of the ball and it seemed that everywhere Jen turned afterward, whether it was with her dance partner, the old ladies sitting on the sofa, the young men in the card room, or with her girl companions, some conversation regarding the poem was sure to meet her ear. It was even set to song at the dinner table and all the while, Jen could tell that Chauvelin was watching Marguerite Blakeney. Jen found herself becoming increasingly preoccupied with watching Chauvelin as he did this. He did not notice the girl, for his attention was seemingly devoted to the moment when Lady Blakeney would finally be alone…

Jen stood half-way up the great staircase of the Grenville's home, very close to Chauvelin as he stood beside the stairway. "I see you have fulfilled your mission to me, Lady Blakeney," he murmured under his breath as he watched Marguerite slip away from the crowded dancing hall, escorted by a young man to the conservatory. "Soon I shall have the information I need to capture the Scarlet Pimpernel." He began to move toward the open doorway.

What did he mean by that? Jen assumed he must be awaiting information that Marguerite was to give him. Was she going to betray the Scarlet Pimpernel? But she couldn't! The Scarlet Pimpernel was her husband who loved her more than life itself! She had to be warned!

"Lady Blakeney!" Jen called out, starting to run down the stairs. Suddenly, her foot caught against a gentleman's fashionable walking stick and Jen was sent tumbling down the stairs to land with a final thud of her head against the marble floor. Jen closed her eyes as she felt herself losing consciousness.


	8. Chapter 8: Awakening

**A/N: **_Something I should also have probably mentioned in a note for the previous chapter I shall mention for this one. Incorporated into the text of these two chapters are direct quotations from Orczy's 'The Scarlet Pimpernel' - not my own creation!_

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Chapter 8: Awakening

_That really hurt that time_, Jen thought to herself. Her brain felt like a bowling ball knocking about fiercely inside her skull, constituting the worst headache she had ever felt in her life. Her arms and legs felt stiff and sore. She could hear the sounds of murmuring voices, one of them sounded like her younger sister.

"The moment he had disappeared, Chauvelin slipped into the room, and the next instant stood calm and impassive by her side. 'You have news for me?' he said. An icy mantle seemed to have suddenly settled round Marguerite's shoulders."

Jen opened her eyes. Everything was blurry at first, but eventually she could make out Marguerite's face bending over her.

"Marguerite," Jen said, her voice coming out in a hoarse whisper, bringing her to another realization that she was very thirsty, "I just wanted to let you know that your husband is the Scarlet Pimpernel."

Marguerite looked oddly at Jen. Jen suddenly noticed that Marguerite looked very much like a nurse. She was in fact, bending over Jen, listening to her heartbeat with a stethoscope that had Spongebob Squarepants stickers on it.

"You've had a pretty hard bump to your head, sweetie," she said matter-of-factly, "but you should be fine. My name is Margie and I will be your nurse until 8 p.m. this evening. Your ICP has stabilized and there are so far no signs of infection at the surgical site. Sue should be in shortly to get another set of blood cultures."

_I hope I'm not supposed to understand any of that right now_, Jen thought to herself. The rest of the room slowly came into focus and revealed itself to be that of a modern hospital. Her sister Casey was sitting in a chair with one of their mom's friends, Mrs. Baxter, reading aloud from a book that Jen recognized immediately as _The Scarlet Pimpernel_.

_So that would explain all the Scarlet Pimpernel dreams I had_, she thought. Casey dropped the book as she saw her sister was awake and came to her bedside.

"Jen! Boy did you stay knocked out for a long time. I guess it's been about three days now. Mom had to take Austin to soccer practice but she let me stay here to watch you. I hope you don't mind I was reading your book, it's really interesting."

Jen grinned, "Interesting is an understatement. You won't believe this Casey, it's really weird, but somehow, your reading aloud somehow made it's way into my head and I've just had the most incredible adventure with the Scarlet Pimpernel."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Jen laid back against the pillows and then looked down at herself. "Casey," she murmured, closing her eyes, "Please tell me that I'm not wearing one of those stupid hospital gowns that opens up all the way in the back."

"You kinda are," Casey said. "Also, not to break the bad news to you, but you've got a bald spot on your head too."

"What!" Jen screeched. Suddenly several beeping alarms went off on the monitor next to Jen.

"Jennifer, you have to be calm sweetie," the nurse said, "You had a subdural hematoma that needed to be removed."

"In other words?" Jen murmured.

"A blood clot," the nurse reiterated, "When you bumped your head after falling down the stairs, you got a blood clot under your skull that the doctor had to take out because it was pressing too hard on your brain. In order to perform surgery, Doctor Blake needed to shave a patch off of your hair to make the incision. Don't worry, you can cover it up with the rest of your hair and no one will even notice. You need to relax so that you don't stress your surgical site and cause internal bleeding."

Jen lay back in bed, feeling very miserable. Her head hurt, she was wearing a horrible hospital gown, she had a bald spot on her head, and she had just been wrenched from the best world she had ever been in and had no hope of ever meeting the Scarlet Pimpernel again! She started to cry.

"There there sweetie!" Margie soothed. "You really are very lucky, you know."

"How could I be lucky!" Jen wailed.

"When you fell down those stairs, you could have suffered some severe brain injury, and may even have ended up with permanent damage," Margie replied. "That's what Dr. Blake says might have happened if it hadn't been for one of your books falling out of your backpack and landing in just the right place so that your head hit it instead of the ground."

"It was this one, Jen," Casey held out the small library book and placed it on Jen's lap. Jen picked it up and looked at the picture of the man covering his face with a gloved hand. She smiled. "It's true then," she murmured, "I was saved by the Scarlet Pimpernel!"

Jen's recovery progressed rapidly and it wasn't many days before Dr. Blake pronounced her well enough to go home, saying that she had escaped with no permanent injuries. Jen returned to school in a few weeks and proceeded to startle her friends and all who knew her with some rather strange behaviors.

One of the first things Jen did was to make it something of a regular habit to wear a skirt to school on days that she was feeling particularly happy. Her grade in World History soared to nearly the top of the class. She sought out the company of Amber Morris – who had never expected any attention from her and was rather surprised at first. Soon, there was much passing of notes between them (signed with small red, star-shaped flowers), discussions of various Scarlet Pimpernel books (yes, Jen had discovered that there were sequels!) and time spent at each other's house either watching Scarlet Pimpernel movies, or conducting what they referred to as 'League business'.

Lauren got jealous, and Zach got curious. Soon, both of them read the 'zit book' and consequently became sworn members of the league. Now the action really started. A courier system was developed and league members were observed by other students to be inserting notes sealed with something that looked like a spill of birthday candle wax into other league member's lockers on a regular basis during each break between periods. What did these papers contain? League orders, to be precise.

One such example was when Zach observed a shy new girl in his science class, he wrote orders to Jen and Amber, who would have the same lunch as her, identifying her and making note to ensure that she wasn't left sitting by herself.

Some students, upon reaching the cashier in the cafeteria, found that their lunch had already been paid for by the person in front of them, which often turned out to be a league member.

Little Corin Baker, small and skinny for his age, and always picked on by the bigger and stronger, found a strange and sudden reprieve from his bullies. He didn't know that Zach, who was quite an athelete, had demanded his peers to put a stop to their cruelties toward him, and that as Zach was a respected member of their circle, they had complied. Corin was soon making friends after that – among them Zach – and he could never figure out how his change of fortune had occurred.

When Ms. Parker, the art teacher lost her glasses, word was spread amongst the league and who should find them but Jen who kept her eyes open for it and discovered their location in one of the ladies rooms?

All sorts of acts of consideration and protection were committed, both great and small. Rumor had it that many of these deeds were acts of the 'league that sounded like it had something to do with zits' but otherwise, students were inclined to remark on Jen and how strange she had become since her accident. Jen had been relatively popular before, and most of the other students had been aware of that whether they knew her personally or not. So this change in her became very interesting to them.

Oh! There she goes now! Look at her wearing a skirt again! What is she talking to Amber about? And why is she talking to Amber Morris in the first place? She used to hardly give her so much as a sideways glance. There! That is what they are talking about. Jen is displaying a ring on one of her fingers. She has finally found a ring with a scarlet pimpernel on it and seems much too excited!

Doctors and surgeons may have been pleased to pronounce that Jen had suffered no brain damage from her fall down the stairs, but the students at her high school knew better. Jen had completely lost her senses, of that they were certain!

**_The End_**

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**A/N:** _And the moral of the story is...... don't knock the Scarlet Pimpernel story until you read it! Who knows? You could become a crazy Pimpernel fan too!_

_Thank you so much to everyone who has read or reviewed this story. _


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